I have found God. God lives in a sandwich. That sandwich is made at Porchetta on East 7th Street in the East Village.
I broke the news back in July that acclaimed Chef Sara Jenkins was gonna open an ode to Roman swine sandwiches. But since the shop opened its doors, I've been sorely remiss in paying call. It took a belated birthday dinner outing with Sir and Lady M to finally lead me to the tiny, white-tiled storefront.
Once there, all I could think about pork. Glorious pork. Pork loins smothered in a vibrant paste of wild fennel pollen, rosemary, garlic, thyme and sage, then jelly-rolled in fatty pork belly, sprinkled with salt and pepper, and slow-baked for five hours to create the most aromatic, tender, mouth-watering slices of moist meat known to man -- encased in a robe of caramel brown cracklings, crisp and addictive as sugar candy.
Piled high on a freshly baked roll, I chomped on one of the truest signs that there must be a higher power watching over me and mine.
Sir and Lady M most certainly agreed, as we greedily downed a garlicky plate of Sauteed Swiss Chard and crunchy, golden Roast Potatoes tossed with an assertive helping of brittle-like Porchetta burnt-ends.
The capper? Learning that Jenkins and company are already looking at spaces for a second location.
If God is good, it will be in my 'hood.